


i fell in, i'm falling, i'm for you

by disgruntledkittenface



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: American AU, Art Teacher Zayn Malik, Banter, Communication, Exes to Lovers, Fluff, Getting Back Together, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Harry used to be a baker, Kindergarten Teacher Harry Styles, M/M, OT5 Friendship (One Direction), Oral Sex, Protective Louis Tomlinson, Smut, Yoga Instructor Harry Styles, this is what happens when I try to write angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:28:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29222454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disgruntledkittenface/pseuds/disgruntledkittenface
Summary: And that’s when he sees him.Illuminated by the bright morning light pouring through the windows, clad in ugly corduroy pants and an embroidered green jacket with what looks like a purse slung over his shoulder, and totally unaware of Zayn’s presence. His ex-boyfriend. Harry. Or H, as he used to call him back in the days when he thought they’d stay together forever. Maybe even get married. Have the houseful of kids that Harry had always wanted.Fuck.Harry.When Zayn gets a job teaching at the same school where his ex Harry works, he realizes he wants a second chance. Now he just has to do something about it.
Relationships: Zayn Malik/Harry Styles
Comments: 8
Kudos: 39
Collections: Harry & Men Fic Fest





	i fell in, i'm falling, i'm for you

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the Rare Pair GC for encouraging the idea of a Harry & Men Fest and to Kim and Sarah for all of their flails <3

“You want a receipt?”

Zayn shakes his head at the cashier’s rote question, fighting a smirk at the boredom and disdain dripping from her voice. He takes his card back and starts to slide it into his wallet.

“Your drink will be ready down at the end of the counter in a few,” she says, punching keys on the register before looking up. She blinks at him, which Zayn takes to mean that he should have pocketed his wallet and moved along by now. After a heavy sigh, she raises her voice to call, “Next.”

He smiles as he turns away, thinking back to his own stint working at a coffee shop in college and how he’d hated it as much as this poor girl clearly does. And that’s when he sees him. 

Illuminated by the bright morning light pouring through the windows, clad in ugly corduroy pants and an embroidered green jacket with what looks like a purse slung over his shoulder, and totally unaware of Zayn’s presence. His ex-boyfriend. Harry. Or H, as he used to call him back in the days when he thought they’d stay together forever. Maybe even get married. Have the houseful of kids that Harry had always wanted. 

Fuck.  _ Harry. _

Their eyes meet as Harry looks up from the counter where he’d been stabbing the lid of an iced coffee with a straw, and they both freeze. Zayn doesn’t know what Harry is thinking, the face he used to be able to read so clearly back when things were good frustratingly blank as the sunlight creates a halo around him, highlighting his brown curls. God, he looks so different now. He looks good like this, with his hair cut shorter and in those clothes, the distinct stale thrift store vibe oddly suiting him. Even the purse looks right on him as he rests a hand on it. Now that he’s not bent over his cup, Zayn can see a string of pearls around his neck and his heart skips a beat. 

The Harry he knew had always liked feeling pretty.

Someone jostles him on their way to the other end of the counter, clearly in a hurry to get the caffeine fix that Zayn came here for too, and it breaks the spell. He shrugs, giving Harry a lopsided smile as he walks over. 

“Hey, ba–” Zayn winces as the old term of endearment almost slips out, and he corrects himself. “H. Hey, H. It’s uh… it’s good to see you.”

“Hi.” Harry lifts his plastic cup, sticking his tongue out in search of his straw, and Zayn can’t help but laugh. Harry pouts. “What?”

“Nothing, you just… you haven’t changed, that’s all.”

“I look different, though, don’t I?” Harry asks, looking down at his outfit and then up at Zayn. “Finally gave up on the skinny jeans.”

“You look great, H,” Zayn says, giving him a onceover. He notices the smudge of muted pink lipstick on the straw, which is new, but decides not to mention it. “Bit like you got dressed in the dark, but great.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Harry laughs, shoving lightly at Zayn’s shoulder. “What are you doing here? I heard you were up in San Francisco now.”

“I was, yeah,” Zayn says, rubbing the back of his neck and hoping the surprise isn’t showing on his face. He didn’t think Harry had kept any tabs on him. “I was at a school in Oakland for a few years, but Safaa had a baby a couple of months ago, and I wanted to move back, be close to them.”

“She did?” Harry’s eyes light up. “Do you have photos? Can I see?”

“Americano for Zayn!”

The barista slams a paper cup on the counter and looks around with a challenging gleam in her eyes, so Zayn hurries to grab his drink, nodding his thanks before turning back to Harry. 

“Yeah, of course,” he says, pulling out his phone. “Here, look. Her name’s Zaneyah. She could practically be a Gerber baby, don’t you think?”

Harry coos over the photos as Zayn swipes through his gallery, which is almost entirely photos of his niece. He can’t help but notice the wistful look on Harry’s face, thinking about how he never unfollowed him on Instagram so he knows that Harry doesn’t have that houseful of children yet. 

“I’d love to stick around and catch up,” Zayn says when they reach the end of the photos, hoping it doesn’t sound like an excuse because he actually means it. “But I have to run, it’s my first day at my new job. Gotta set up my classroom.”

“Really?” Harry knits his eyebrows together. “Which school?”

“Kings Elementary, it’s only like a block away from here…” Zayn trails off as he sees the smile form on Harry’s face. “What?”

“I teach kindergarten at Kings,” Harry says, his dimple popping out as he grins. “For a couple years now. So you’re the new art teacher? Wow, what are the odds?”

“Yeah, what are the odds,” Zayn murmurs, pleased at how pleased Harry looks. Even though his Instagram is set to private, Harry never posts about work and Zayn has lost touch with most of their college friends by now, so he’d had no idea Harry was at Kings. He never would have guessed, thinking back to the deafening silence of the last few weeks they spent together in the studio apartment they used to share, that finding out that they’re going to be working in the same school would make Harry happy instead of bitter or angry. He tries to tread lightly, not wanting to fuck up the pleasant vibe they have going. “So. Walk me to class?”

Harry laughs and they leave the coffee shop, sipping their drinks as they give each other the Cliff’s Notes version of their lives now. It turns out Harry’s sister Gemma moved to New York to pursue writing, while all of Zayn’s sisters have stayed close to home, scattered throughout the LA suburbs and keeping up weekly family dinners. Harry isn’t close with any of their old friends anymore either, and he assures Zayn that he’ll find friends through work, promising to introduce him around. 

At that, Zayn’s nerves, which had been settled by both the coffee and how well it’s going with Harry, kick back in. He’s never been good with new people; he’s always been too anxious, too shy, too slow to trust and warm up. With the kids, it will be easier; they’ll be too distracted by their art projects and each other to care much about him. But the teachers are a whole different story. He’d just gotten settled at his old school when he’d decided to move, and as much as he knows he made the right decision and enjoys being close to his family, he might be kicking himself. Just a little. 

“This is it,” Harry announces, holding the door to the main entrance open for him. “Work, sweet work.”

He forces a laugh as he follows Harry inside, taking in their surroundings. The hallways probably feel huge to the students, but the ceilings are just low enough to make Zayn feel claustrophobic as Harry leads him to the front office. The receptionist greets Harry warmly, clearly susceptible to his considerable charm, and goes to get the principal to welcome Zayn.

“I’ll come grab you for lunch, yeah? Introduce you to some friends.”

Zayn swallows hard and nods. “Sounds great.”

“Hey,” Harry says, holding out his fist for Zayn to bump. “You’re gonna be great.” 

Zayn bumps his fist, a small smile forming on his lips as he remembers how Harry used to do this for him all the time. He would always notice when Zayn’s confidence flagged, when his social anxiety hit him, and he’d find some small way, usually a fist bump like this one, to reassure him without making it obvious to the people around them. As he watches Harry walk away, glancing over his shoulder with a grin before he’s out of sight, Zayn wonders how it went so wrong between the two of them. 

“Mr. Malik!”

He turns to locate the source of the booming voice behind him, a beaming blond man he knows to be the principal, Mr. Corden.

“Welcome, welcome! Let’s get you settled in.”

*

Between filling out paperwork and moving shelves and tables around in his classroom until he finds just the right fit, it’s a busy morning. The granola bar he had for breakfast is but a distant memory and his stomach growls as he wonders how to go about finding Harry and seeing if he meant his offer to have lunch together.

“Oh, wow, it looks great in here.”

Speak of the devil. Zayn turns around to see Harry leaning in the doorway, nodding approvingly at the large classroom. 

“Thanks,” he says, ducking his head. It’s a small thing, but he’s proud of the work he’s put in so far, and he’s pleased that Harry likes what he’s done. His stomach growls again, so loud that Harry hears it across the room and they both laugh. “So, lunch?”

“Lunch,” Harry says, nodding. “Come on, my friend Liam sprang for pizza. We’re eating in the gym.”

“Ew.” Zayn wrinkles his nose even as he walks over to follow Harry blindly. “Why?”

“Liam’s the gym teacher,” Harry explains as he leads him down another claustrophobic hallway. The building feels like a maze to Zayn, and he knows it will stay that way for a few weeks until he gets his bearings. “It’s like his pride and joy, so try not to spill or anything. Then there’s Louis, he’s first grade and he helps coach soccer. And Niall, music teacher.”

“Okay,” Zayn says, trying to commit all that to memory and knowing he’s going to fail miserably. “Got it.”

Harry gives him a sidelong glance, biting his lip as indecision flickers on his face, but he doesn’t say anything. Once they reach the gym, Zayn follows him inside, where three guys about their age are sitting on giant blue mats spread out on the floor.

“Do not put your greasy pizza hands on my new mats, Tommo. I’ll make you clean them this time. I mean it.”

“Aw, it’s cute when he tries to be firm, isn’t it, Neil?”

The third guy doesn’t bother replying to the banter, he just shoves half of a piece of pizza in his mouth and shakes his head. 

“Hey guys,” Harry calls out, gesturing toward Zayn. “This is Zayn. The new art teacher I was telling you about. Zayn, that’s Liam, Louis and that one is Niall.”

Zayn nods and does a dumb little wave with his hand that he immediately wishes he could take back, but then Liam waves back and he relaxes, thinking maybe he’s not a totally socially inept loser after all. 

“So.” The one who Harry called Louis and Liam called Tommo narrows his eyes at Zayn as he crosses his arms. “You’re Zayn. The Zayn?”

“What Zayn?” Liam asks, looking between Louis and Harry, who suddenly looks murderous. “There was a Zayn?”

“Ignore them,” Niall says, pushing a box of pizza toward Zayn. “Tommo’s being an asshole, but it’s just because he’s protective. Once you earn his trust, he’ll be the same way about you.”

Zayn sits next to Niall, his face hot as he registers all of the looks being exchanged around him. It’s like the four of them are having at least three silent conversations at once. He should have known when he saw Harry this morning that it wasn’t going to be as simple as it seemed to reconnect. Shit. His new coworkers are probably all going to hate him now and he’ll be a pariah all year.

“Seriously, dude, you’re fine,” Niall says, mouth half full. “It’s gonna get cold, have some. Payno’s treat.”

“Thanks,” he says softly, looking around and deducing that Liam must be Payno. He nods at him and gets a bright smile in return, and his nerves only settle a little bit as he takes a bite of cheese pizza. It’s surprisingly good, just the right ratio of sauce to cheese, and it’s still hot. “This is really good.”

“Have as much as you want, Louis always makes me order more than we actually need.”

“As if you don’t like having the leftovers. Honestly, Payno.”

“Hey,” Niall says, nudging Zayn. “We rewatched  _ Endgame _ last weekend. You into Marvel?”

“Um, actually more of a DC fan,” Zayn says, looking around. Harry’s quiet, nibbling a slice of pizza and letting him interact with the guys on his own. Liam’s eyes light up but Louis shakes his head as Niall laughs. “What?”

“Oh man,” Niall says, grabbing another piece of pizza. “You just reignited a decade-old argument between Payno and Tommo over there.”

“I’m usually the only one who prefers DC,” Liam says, scooting closer to them on the mat. “Do you read the comics? Which one is your favorite?”

Zayn looks over at Harry again, who’s nodding encouragingly, and decides two out of three isn’t so bad. So what if Louis hates him? He can see himself bonding with Liam and Niall. And that’s more than he expected on his first day.

“I’m really into Deadpool.”

* 

It only takes a few weeks for Zayn to settle into his new routine. He quickly figures out that Harry stops at the coffee shop on his way to work when he needs a pick-me-up, which means Mondays (because obviously) and Thursdays (because he Skypes with Gemma on Wednesday nights and it makes him miss her). If he happens to run into Harry there twice a week and then they happen to walk to school together, well, that’s no one’s business but his own. Louis still watches him closely, waiting for him to fuck up somehow, but Liam and Niall have welcomed him into their little group with open arms. It feels better than Zayn expected to have friends to eat lunch with everyday and have a movie night with most weekends. His classes are going well, he has most of his students’ names committed to memory, and Corden seems happy with him. And he’s the only one in his family who can get his niece to do tummy time without crying.

All in all, things are going well. 

“But?” Niall quirks a brow over their shared lunch of PB&Js. “There’s always a ‘but,’ dude.”

“But…” Zayn looks around the teacher’s lounge, even though it’s deserted since it’s food truck day and he knows no one is listening in. “But he’s still being, like… really careful around me. We talk all the time, but we don’t really  _ talk. _ You know?”

“Harry?” Niall asks, raising his eyebrows. When Zayn nods, he takes a swig from his milk carton, gesturing for Zayn to continue.

“And I don’t blame him.” Zayn picks at the crust on his sandwich, trying to find the words. “I don’t. But it sucks. I feel like this second chance just kind of landed in my lap, and I want–”

“You want him back,” Niall declares, like it’s obvious, before crunching on a baby carrot.

God, it must be so obvious. To everyone. Including Harry.

“I just keep thinking about when things were good between us,” Zayn confesses, pushing his sandwich over to Niall. He’s not really hungry anyway. “They were really good. He, like, let me be me? He understood if I got wrapped up in a painting and didn’t text back right away, he never made me feel bad about not, like, being good with people. And I just felt like I was better, a better version of myself around him, like less selfish or lazy or whatever.”

“So what went wrong?” Niall asks with his trademark bluntness. “I never got the whole story.”

“Nothing, really,” Zayn replies, shrugging. “I mean, it’s not like there was one thing or even a story, really. It just… after graduation, we wanted to move in together and all we could afford was this tiny studio apartment and we were living on top of each other and we were both young and fucking stupid, you know? Some little thing would set one of us off and Harry would want to argue about whatever it was, and I’m more the type to shut down and get quiet, and he would fill in the blanks however he wanted and just… it was stupid. We were stupid.”

“Sounds like it,” Niall says, brushing crumbs off his hands and glancing up at the clock. “Hey, sorry, man, but I gotta get back. Why don’t you stop by my classroom after school? Like 3:30 or so.”

“Yeah, sure,” Zayn says, still lost in his memories. He hasn’t thought about that shitty studio apartment this much in years. “Thanks, man.”

Niall claps him on the back and heads out, leaving Zayn to clear their table before his next class. He’s doing watercolors with the third graders today, so he should actually get a move on, too. He gathers their trash and tosses it in the bin, walking through the now familiar hallways back to his classroom to get ready for the afternoon ahead.

He’s exhausted by the time he slings his backpack around his shoulders and flips the light switch on his way to see Niall after the last bell. There had been a (frankly impressive) paint fight between a couple of tables of third graders and it had taken the rest of the day to clean up afterward. He’s sweaty and gross and he’d be surprised if there weren’t flecks of paint in his hair. As soon as he gets home, he’s going to hop in the shower and wash this day off. 

The faint strands of acoustic guitars float down the hallway as he nears Niall’s classroom and he wonders if he should even bother stopping by. He really is pretty gross, and he doesn’t want to interrupt what sounds like a lesson. But he told Niall he would stop by, so he should, even if it’s just to say hi and goodbye. 

He stops dead in his tracks at the doorway when he realizes that Niall’s student is Harry, hesitantly plucking at a guitar as Niall nods encouragingly. They stop playing for a moment as Niall reaches over and gently corrects his finger placement before they start up again. Zayn can’t tell what they’re playing, but that doesn’t mean Harry isn’t playing well; his taste in music and Harry’s have never overlapped by much, just a couple of Boyz II Men classics. It sounds like classic rock, maybe The Eagles, but Zayn would have to ask to be sure. He doesn’t want to intrude on what seems like a private moment for Harry, though. He’s usually pretty good at things when he first tries them (and even better after he puts in his usual hard work to improve) and Zayn doesn’t think he’d like anyone witnessing him trying something that didn’t come naturally to him. 

Niall must have forgotten about this lesson when he asked him to stop by. He’ll just text him later to explain. Backing away quietly so as not to attract their attention, Zayn slips his earphones in and heads back down the hallway, pulling up Spotify to search for classic rock playlists. Maybe he can figure out what they were playing without asking. 

*

“You didn’t bake?”

“You did bake?”

“Of course I did, it’s Parents’ Night! And I–”

“Used to be a baker!” Zayn finishes for him, looking up from the table where he’s setting out the cookies he’d picked up at the grocery store to see if his teasing annoyed Harry.

“Well, I did,” Harry says, running his (long) fingers through his (soft-looking) curls. “You know that.”

“I know, H,” Zayn says, relieved to see that Harry still seems to be in a good mood. “I remember.”

They fall into an awkward silence. It’s been hit or miss with them; sometimes when their shared past comes up in conversation, it’s totally fine. And sometimes one or both of them tense up and they find an excuse to either change the subject or leave. Harry stays this time, helping him set out plastic cups for juice, but he doesn’t break the silence and neither does Zayn.

“Hey, guys.”

Oh, thank god. A distraction in the form of an administrative assistant from the front office named Duncan, who’s appeared in the doorway with an armful of colored manila folders.

“I have your sign-in sheets. You can just drop the folders back on my desk at the end of the night, okay?”

“Okay, thanks,” Harry says, accepting his red folder. 

“Yeah,” Zayn mutters, taking the blue folder that Duncan holds out for him. “Thanks, Donuts.”

Harry tries to muffle his laughter next to him, but his shoulders shake, a dead giveaway.

Duncan tilts his head, his eyebrows knit together. “What?”

“Donuts,” Zayn repeats, elbowing Harry. “Like Dunkin.”

“Duncan,” Harry says, covering his face with his hand as he shakes with laughter again. “Duncan Donuts.”

“Yeah, okay,” Duncan says slowly, clearly not sure what to make of the two of them. “Just remember to drop off your folders.”

“Thanks!” Harry calls after him as he leaves the classroom. He turns to Zayn, grinning, and Zayn is pretty sure he’s grinning back just as hard.

“Donuts is pretty cool,” he remarks. “I like my blue folder.”

“I gotta go,” Harry says, holding up his red folder. “I have home-baked brownies to set out in my classroom.”

“Save me one?”

“Of course.”

* 

“Hey, Zayn.”

Zayn looks up from his easel to see Niall in the doorway to his classroom, in gray sweatpants and a loose t-shirt instead of his usual jeans and tight t-shirt.

“Hey, Ni, what’s up?”

“You going to yoga?”

Zayn wrinkles his nose. “Yoga?”

“Yeah, Harry’s an instructor now, he got certified last year. He and Liam are teaching a lesson in the gym in a few minutes. Think they got, like ten or fifteen kids signed up.”

“And you’re going?” Zayn asks, stalling for time as he processes that information. He knew Harry did yoga, he’d rolled his eyes every time he referred to it as a “practice” for months before they broke up, but he had no idea he took it that seriously. “Like, to… do yoga? Is that what you call it?”

“Harry says ‘practice,’ but if you come, don’t joke about that. It’s like a weird sore spot or something. You in? The kids are pretty cute, and it’s actually a good workout.”

“Uh, yeah,” Zayn mutters, cleaning off the brush he’d been using. “Yeah, maybe I’ll just watch today.”

“Hey, what are you working on?” Niall asks, walking over and rounding the easel to check out the canvas. “Oh, sick. Is this like a field or something? All the light green?”

“Yeah, something,” Zayn replies, grabbing his backpack. Niall’s basically his closest friend these days, but he’s not ready to talk about how he’d been trying to capture Harry’s eyes. “Okay, ready.”

Niall keeps up a steady stream of chatter on their way, recounting the last open mic night he’d played since Zayn had to miss it for family dinner, and before he knows it, they arrive at the gym. As soon as they walk in, Zayn is hit with the sight of Harry in yoga pants and a loose tank top, his curls held back by a thin headband, in front of a small group of kids doing tree pose. He shakes his head, unable to believe he still remembers what it’s called from back when Harry would try to explain each pose as he went through them while Zayn would do his best to tune him out and play video games. He hangs back by the wall as Niall rushes to join the last row of kids attempting to duplicate Harry’s movements while Liam walks around helping correct their form. 

If Harry sees him, he ignores him, focusing on the kids and going through the poses – or practice, he should say. Niall was right, the kids are pretty cute and Zayn enjoys watching the lesson more than he expected to. It’s easier to watch the kids than Harry; he’s wracked with guilt admiring the way his lithe body stretches, knowing he shouldn’t let his mind wander in the directions it wants to. At least, not while they’re at school. 

It’s more than that, though; he can’t stop thinking about what Niall said. He hadn’t realized at the time that being dismissive of Harry’s hobby had actually hurt his feelings, let alone in such a lasting way. He hadn’t thought about whether or not yoga was important to Harry, he’d just assumed it was like jogging or any other exercise that Harry was disciplined enough to keep up with in a way that Zayn never was. He didn’t know it had meant something to him. 

They wrap up the lesson with a few minutes of lying on their mats in the dark, which Zayn thinks is pretty weird but would rather take a bullet than say so at this point. The kids line up to give Harry and Liam high fives on their way out, and Niall walks over to Zayn, his eyebrows raised.

“Well? What’d you think? You gonna try it out next time?”

Zayn glances over at Harry, who’s rolling up his mat but obviously listening in.

“Yeah, was cool,” Zayn says, trying to sound casual. “Might have to give it a try.”

“Harry’s amazing, isn’t he?” Liam calls as he walks over. “The kids love it. We tried to do meditation too, but it was kind of over their heads. They’re barely old enough for Savasana.”

Zayn’s eyes are drawn back to Harry, who’s watching him carefully as he walks up to them.

“Harold, what’s up?” Niall asks, throwing his arm around Harry’s shoulders. “You seem weird.” 

He nods toward Zayn. “I’m waiting for him to make a face.”

Niall and Liam swivel their heads toward Zayn.

“I wasn’t going to, H,” Zayn says. “I wasn’t. All of this is… pretty cool, actually.”

“Zayn, have you tried meditation?” Liam asks politely, always the peacemaker as Zayn has quickly learned. “There are these guided meditations you can do before bed, Harry recommended them to me and the difference is like night and day.” 

“The difference in your sleep is like night and day,” Niall repeats, shaking his head. “Payno, sometimes I don’t think you listen to yourself when you speak.”

“Does anyone want to go to the coffee shop?” Harry asks, looking at Zayn even though he’s addressing everyone. “I could use a smoothie.”

Zayn follows the other three out as they leave the gym, debating smoothie flavors as Liam texts Louis to join them. His mind is a jumble of thoughts about the Harry he knew then and the Harry he knows now. This Harry is calmer, slower to anger. A little quieter. But more comfortable with himself. He thinks Harry still likes being the center of attention, but he seems to prefer a small core group of friends instead of lots of acquaintances like in college. The terrible sense of humor has stayed more or less the same, but he’s always managed to make Zayn laugh. 

He’s still the most captivating person in the room, no matter what room they’re in. It’s kind of ridiculous the way Zayn is still drawn to him, like a moth to a flame, after all this time. 

*

“You are ridiculous,” Zayn grumbles, batting Harry’s hand away as he tries to steal popcorn. Again. The previews have just started, they haven’t even gotten to the movie yet, and Harry’s already stolen at least three handfuls. “Why didn’t you just buy your own?”

“Sharing is caring,” Louis sniffs from the seat on Harry’s other side. “Harold, you want Junior Mints?”

He holds out his box and shakes a few into Harry’s hand before lifting a brow at Zayn as if to say,  _ “See?” _

“He steals snacks from everyone,” Niall says, as if he’s not halfway through Liam’s bag of Skittles. “No one is safe.”

“Bet you steal snacks from your kids, too,” Zayn says, elbowing Harry as he eyes the popcorn again. “Admit it, you go through their lunch bags during naptime, don’t you?”

“Enough slander,” Louis says haughtily, patting Harry’s shoulder. “We’re here to see  _ Hustlers, _ not food shame young Harold.”

“Really we’re here for Halloween costume ideas,” Harry says, seemingly unbothered as he settles back in his seat. “I think I can find a faux fur coat at that place on Melrose.”

Zayn laughs, thinking back to their first Halloween together back in college.

“Say, H, d’you remember–”

“The time you dressed up as a sexy female secretary? Of course I do, that’s the only time I’ve ever been sexually attracted to a woman. It was very confusing for me.”

They all crack up at that, even Louis, only to be hushed by the women in front of them as the movie finally starts up on screen. Zayn glances over at Harry and grins when he sees Harry is already smiling at him. They’re going to get to a point eventually when Zayn will have to do something about this, figure out how to talk to him, but for now this moment is enough.

*

Zayn sticks a cigarette behind his ear to complete the look as he walks up to the bungalow that Liam and Niall share, which is currently packed with Halloween revelers. One of whom happens to be Louis, smoking outside with Nick, a friend of his and Harry’s who Zayn has met once or twice. They don’t bother to be subtle as they look him up and down, probably judging the costume that Harry had talked him into.

“Danny Zuko,” Louis says, narrowing his eyes. “I played him in high school, you know.”

“Nah, man, didn’t know,” Zayn says, lingering in front of the porch with them and contemplating a smoke. He’s cut back a lot, but he misses smoking as a social activity. “That’s fucking cool, though.”

“You look hot,” Nick says, clapping his hand over his mouth as he appears to realize what he said. “Shit, don’t let Mesh hear that.”

“Too late.” 

Nick scrambles to follow one of the partygoers from the porch as he stalks off in the direction of the backyard, leaving Louis and Zayn alone. The air is thick with tension and, if Zayn’s not mistaken, the indication that people inside are partaking. He’d wanted a clear head tonight, but if the party is going to be this awkward, he might have to join in. Just when he can’t stand it and is about to make his excuses, Louis breaks the silence.

“You know, Harry’s inside.” He meets Zayn’s eyes as he exhales a stream of smoke. “You gonna go find him?”

“Yeah, was planning on it, actually,” Zayn replies, holding his chin high. He’s decided that Louis is like a pack animal and Harry is part of his pack. He appreciates Louis looking out for Harry, but it’s important for Zayn not to show fear. “That okay with you?”

After a long moment of eye contact that’s far too intense for Zayn’s liking, Louis nods. 

“You’re cool, man,” he says eventually, nodding. “Just don’t hurt him, and we won’t have a problem.”

There’s a lot that Zayn could say, but he’d rather say it to Harry so he just nods and claps Louis on the back before heading into the party. The music is loud with thumping bass and it’s dark aside from the flashing colors of the strobe lights, and it’s all kind of a lot for Zayn. He can see why there were people hanging out in the yard, where you could actually hear yourself think. There’s no sign of Harry in the living room so he heads into the kitchen where, thankfully, it’s a little quieter. Niall is mixing some kind of punch in a large bowl and he lights up when he sees Zayn.

“Hey, man! Glad you could make it! What are you, Grease Lightning?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” Zayn laughs, leaning against the counter. “Me and Harry went to that place on Melrose so he could look for faux fur and he talked me into the jacket, told me I had to be Danny Zuko.”

Niall raises his eyebrows. “Have you seen his costume yet?”

“No,” Zayn replies, stealing a plastic cup of punch and taking a sip. “Why?”

Niall turns to face him, his expression serious. “Listen, you guys are adults, you’re gonna do what you want. But I really think you should talk before you… you know.”

“Uh, no, I don’t know. Before we what?”

“When you see him, you’re gonna want to take him home. Trust me.”

Zayn raises his eyebrows back at Niall. “Uh…” 

“But just… talk to him first. Okay?”

“Yeah, sure, man, I–”

“Hey, Ni, Liam’s looking for you.”

Of course Harry chooses that exact moment to enter the kitchen. Zayn knows immediately exactly what Niall meant, taking in the vision before him. The faux fur coat they’d shopped for together is flung over a very short, very tight black dress. Harry’s long legs look even longer thanks to the stilettos he’s effortlessly walking in. He’s wearing a wig, which gives him flowing light brown locks, and he’s done his makeup perfectly. He looks as close to Jennifer Lopez as he possibly could and, in Zayn’s opinion, about a billion times hotter. 

“Now you see what I was going through when you dressed up as Veronica, huh?”

Zayn’s not sure how long he’s been staring, jaw practically on the floor, but it was enough time for Harry to make his way over and grab the cup out of his hands to sip the punch and smirk. He would have thought he’d be embarrassed, every sinful thought probably showing on his face, but he can’t be bothered. He’s glad Harry knows the effect he has on him. Glad he knows how pretty he looks. 

It’s what he deserves. It’s what Zayn wants to give him.

“Hey, d’you wanna, uh…” He swallows, wishing his mouth weren’t so dry. Maybe if Harry hadn’t stolen his punch, but he wouldn’t want it any other way. “Talk?”

“You guys can go up to my room,” Niall offers, pouring more vodka into the bowl. “It’s not locked.”

“Sure,” Harry says, taking another sip before handing the cup back to Zayn. There’s a smear of lipstick on the rim and Zayn realizes could go the rest of his life with lipstick smudges on his cups and he’d be just fine. As long as they were Harry’s.

Niall’s right. They need to talk. Before they manage to fuck this up again.

Harry leads the way up the stairs and Zayn almost trips looking at his bare legs but they make it to Niall’s room, closing the door behind them and perching on the end of the bed. It almost feels like they’re teenagers at a high school party, about to have their first kiss or something. But Zayn knows the stakes are a lot higher. 

“You wanted to talk?” Harry lifts his eyebrows, apparently waiting for Zayn to lead the conversation.

Right. Okay.

“I’m sorry,” Zayn says, his heart pounding as he stares at his lap. He takes a breath and then everything that’s been on his mind since that first morning at the coffee shop starts pouring out of him. “I’m sorry for how things ended between us. I didn’t realize at the time how much I was shutting you out, I didn’t think it was a big deal that I was so bad at talking about my feelings. I didn’t realize how much I was letting little things pile up until the pile got so high we couldn’t see over it. Couldn’t see each other. I just…” He finally looks over at Harry, whose eyes have filled with tears. “What kills me is that towards the end, I think I… I think I made you feel like I was judging you when I honestly didn’t really mean to. I don’t think I took the time to understand the things that were important to you. Like the yoga. I should have appreciated you more, you’re so… you’re different from anyone else I know, you’re unique, and I hate that I ever made you feel bad about yourself. I’ve always loved that about you, how you’re your own person, and I’m so sorry that I ever made you feel any differently.” 

Tears are streaming freely down Harry’s face now and Zayn instinctively reaches out to wipe them away.

“Fuck,” he murmurs. “I’m ruining your makeup, aren’t I?” 

“I don’t care,” Harry says, a bubble of a laugh in his voice. “I don’t fucking care, I just… I’ve wanted to hear you say that for so long, babe.”

The term of endearment is a shot of relief to Zayn’s heart, and he feels some of the tension seep out of his body.

“Yeah?” He thumbs away another tear, wishing he had a Kleenex.

“Of course,” Harry says, inching closer and taking Zayn’s hands in his. “Pretty much ever since you left. I’ve missed you so much. I’m sorry too, I was such an asshole, I never apologized for anything, I was always making assumptions and never giving you the benefit of the doubt–”

“It was both of us,” Zayn insists. “We both did this. But H, I really think it could be different this time.”

“How come?” Harry sniffles.

“Because I know what it’s like to lose you and I never want to go through that again. I promise, I’ll put in the effort this time to communicate better, to let you know what I’m thinking. To make sure you know how much I love you.”

Harry’s eyes widen. “You still love me?”

“I don’t think I ever stopped,” Zayn confesses, looking down at their hands intertwined in his lap. “But also, it’s like… getting to know you again, seeing who you are now, I think I’m falling in love with you all over again.”

When Harry doesn’t say anything, Zayn’s stomach drops but he forces himself to look over at him. He’d thought they were on the same page, but if Harry doesn’t feel the same way, it’s better to know now. Instead of the pity he’d braced himself for, there’s awe on Harry’s face and a few fresh tears sliding down his cheeks, creating tracks in his foundation.

“Wow,” he whispers, squeezing Zayn’s hands. “It really is going to be different this time.”

And with that, he leans in and kisses him, his lipstick adding to the smooth glide of their lips. It’s soft and sweet and so familiar that Zayn could cry. He hadn’t let himself realize exactly how much he’d missed Harry until this very moment, now that he finally has him back in his arms. Harry pulls back just far enough to murmur, “I love you, too, I love you so much,” against his lips before kissing him again, and it’s overwhelming in the best way, being surrounded by him like this. The faint scent of Harry’s cologne with its familiar notes of vanilla and tobacco wraps around them as Harry parts his lips, inviting him in just as he invited him back into his life a few months ago, and Zayn surges forward, hunger overtaking him. 

The low, frantic moans muffled against his lips spur him on as he lifts a hand to slip inside the plunging neckline of Harry’s dress to tease his nipple, rolling the pad of his fingertip over the hardened nub as Harry clutches him, twisting his t-shirt in his hands. He lets his hands roam all over Harry’s body, underneath the coat but over the tight dress, until Harry covers one hand with his own and gently guides it to cup his erection, which Zayn hadn’t realized was tenting his dress. 

“Fuck, babe,” he breathes, rubbing his hand along his length. “You’re so fucking hot, want you so much.”

Harry pushes his face into Zayn’s neck, nuzzling his heated skin and surely ruining the rest of his makeup.

“Do you think Niall would mind if we…”

The mention of Niall’s name bursts the bubble around them and Zayn slows his hand, looking around the room. There are reminders of Niall everywhere, from the guitar propped up against the wall to the framed photos of him with family and friends to a life-size cardboard cutout of his favorite singer, Lewis Capaldi, that someone had gotten him as a joke.

“Actually, maybe we should go somewhere else. Like, anywhere but here.” 

Harry laughs, a loud strangled bark of a sound which bursts out of him, and this time the familiarity actually does bring a tear to Zayn’s eye.

“Babe? What is it?”

“Nothing, just… I haven’t made you laugh like that in so long. I missed it.”

They lean in at the same time, falling into a lush kiss that goes on longer than it should, given that cardboard Lewis Capaldi is still watching from the corner. Eventually they pull apart, and straighten their clothes. Harry checks his wig in the mirror over Niall’s dresser, but his makeup is a lost cause. Everyone will probably be able to guess what they were up to, but Zayn finds he doesn’t give a fuck, resting his hands on Harry’s hips and pressing soft kisses to his neck as he wipes his face with a Kleenex from the box on the dresser. 

“Okay, that’s as good as it’s gonna get,” Harry declares, turning around to face him. He pulls his faux fur coat closer around him to hide his semi, and Zayn smirks. “Come on, we can go to my place, I’m just around the corner.”

“Really? I didn’t know that.” 

There’s so much Zayn still doesn’t know about Harry’s life now, so much he wants to learn. From the way Harry’s looking at him, practically radiating love, he thinks he has all the time in the world to catch up.

“Yeah, come on,” Harry laughs, grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the door. “You have to finish what you started, I’m dying here.”

They stumble down the staircase, laughing, earning a knowing look from Niall as they pass the kitchen on their way to the door. Louis and Nick are still out front smoking, and still making no effort to hide their judgmental looks.

“Zayn,” Nick calls out. He waits for Zayn to turn and make eye contact before continuing, “Fuck this up and I’ll kill you.”

Zayn pauses, furrowing his eyebrows. “Is that… from  _ Jerry Maguire?” _

They both nod approvingly at him. 

“You’re gonna do just fine,” Louis says, waving them off. “Have fun, kids.” 

“Use protection!” Nick shouts after them as Harry drags Zayn down the walkway.

They stumble when they reach the sidewalk, Harry’s haste coupled with the height of his stilettos almost tipping them over, but they manage to right themselves, laughing into each other’s necks. Zayn can’t keep his hands off of Harry as they walk at a slightly slower pace; he winds his arm around Harry’s waist below the fur coat, caressing the slight love handle just above his hip as they round the corner and Harry leads the way up a small bungalow identical to Liam and Niall’s. 

“D’you have a roommate?” Zayn asks, hooking his chin on Harry’s shoulder as he unlocks the door. “There’s only one pumpkin.”

Harry glances down at the carved pumpkin on the porch, throwing a smile over his shoulder as the door swings open.

“Yes, I have a roommate,” he says, pulling Zayn inside and crowding him against the door as he pushes it closed. “Could never afford this otherwise. His name’s Mitch, I couldn't talk him into carving jack o’lanterns with me.” He kicks off his heels and shrugs off his coat before taking Zayn’s hands and placing them over his hips. “He spends most of his time at his girlfriend’s, so we don’t have to worry about…”

“Being overheard?” Zayn tightens his grip, pulling him closer.

“Being  _ loud.” _

And then Harry’s lips are hot on his. He lets Harry take control, tilting his jaw just so and licking into his mouth, as his hands drift south to cup Harry’s ass through the thin fabric of his dress. Despite the fire stirring within him, his semi rubbing up against Harry’s thigh, he still has the presence of mind to appreciate the squats Harry must have put in over the years; his cheeks are plumper, rounder, and Zayn can’t help groping him shamelessly. He’d never thought Harry’s ass was too small before, but he can certainly appreciate the difference now. 

Harry breaks the kiss, moving to bite Zayn’s earlobe before he murmurs, “That feels so good, you feel so good. Fuck…”

“That’s the idea,” Zayn replies, surprised at how low and husky his attempt at levity comes out. “Bedroom?”

“Bedroom,” Harry agrees. He turns in Zayn’s arms, resting his hands over Zayn’s on his hips, and they walk clumsily down the hallway to the door at the end. Zayn lingers in the doorway as Harry crosses the room, switching on a string of lights over the bed. He straightens up, slipping off the wig and ruffling his flattened curls. “Unzip me?”

Zayn walks over, stepping into Harry’s space and reaching behind him to drag the zipper pull of his dress down as slowly as he can stand it, remembering how much Harry used to like being teased. Still does, judging by the way he shivers. 

And, well. The bedroom is the one place they’ve never had any trouble communicating. 

Zayn smiles as Harry looks up, his green eyes blown black with lust. He skims his hands over Harry’s sides, lifting them to toy with the edge of the fabric before he finally slides the dress off his shoulders. A light blush spreads from Harry’s cheeks down his throat, and Zayn traces the journey with his eyes, his breath catching when he sees how Harry’s hard cock is trapped by the black lace underwear that Zayn hadn’t known he was wearing.

“No lines,” Harry whispers, taking Zayn’s hands and guiding them back to his ass, biting his lip as he watches Zayn figure out that it’s a thong. He pushes back again Zayn’s touch as he strokes the bare skin, the flush spreading to his chest. 

“Fuck, babe,” Zayn mutters, admiring the contrast of the black lace against Harry’s pale skin. “You’re so fucking pretty.”

Harry sways forward, capturing Zayn’s lips in a kiss and taking small steps to maneuver them toward the bed. Knowing the high probability of them falling (it’s happened before), Zayn pulls back so he can see as he guides them to close the distance. There’s a charge in the air as Harry sits on the bed and scoots back to the middle, propping himself up on his elbows and looking Zayn up and down.

“Take your clothes off,” he says, his eyes hooded with desire. Before Zayn has a chance to respond, he adds, “Please?” before biting his plush lip.

“Missed that,” Zayn says, tearing off his leather jacket and flinging it to the floor.

“Missed what?”

“You,” Zayn replies, tugging at his belt, “ordering me around.”

If possible, Harry’s blush deepens, his rosy cheeks turning a dark red.

“Don’t be embarrassed.” Zayn whips off his t-shirt, not caring where it lands, and remembers to kick off his shoes before he starts pulling his jeans down his legs. “I fucking love it.”

Harry juts his chin out. “Well, then. Get over here.”

Zayn can’t help but laugh as he climbs onto the bed and crawls over Harry’s body, hovering over him. 

“I missed these cheekbones,” Harry whispers, leaning up to press a lingering kiss to one and then the other. “Those long eyelashes.” Zayn closes his eyes to let Harry kiss him there, too. “Your jaw.” More kisses. “Mm, your beard is going to feel so good on my thighs.”

The words go straight to Zayn’s cock and he twitches against Harry, who preens underneath him, his dimple popping out.

“Well, I missed this,” Zayn says softly, kissing the deep groove. “God, I’ve wanted to do that ever since I first saw you at the coffee shop.”

Harry melts into the sheets, beaming up at him. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” Zayn assures him, peppering his face with kisses and delighting in the giggles he draws from his boy. “What do you want, babe?”

“Your mouth,” Harry says coyly, like Zayn couldn’t have guessed from the way Harry has been arching up against him, the lace of his thong rubbing against his skin. “Please?”

“’Course, babe,” Zayn says before bending his head to kiss him. “I’ve got you.”

He kisses his way down Harry’s lithe body, trembling below him, admiring Harry’s new ink as he goes. Tracing his tongue over the laurel by one his hips, he thinks back to the day Harry had gotten “Might as well” and how he’d blown him in the bathroom at the tattoo shop, neither of them able to wait after realizing how much Harry was getting off on the sensation of the needle while in the chair. He’s surprised to realize it doesn’t make him sad that Harry covered it; after all, it’s still there below the new tattoo. And while he doesn’t want to forget or erase their past, it’s time for them to start fresh. Together.

Harry whines, obviously getting impatient, and Zayn chuckles as he shifts between his legs to slowly pull down the skimpy underwear before tossing it to the side. He really had missed this; he’s never been with anyone like Harry, who’s so open and unabashed in his desire. It makes Zayn feel safe to let go, to lose the inhibitions that are so hard to shake outside of the bedroom, and give himself over to the pleasure. To Harry.

Harry shifts his hips meaningfully, but Zayn ignores his cock, dripping at the head, for now, choosing instead to mark up his thighs, give him a bit of the beard burn he wants so badly. The pale skin is soft and inviting and once Zayn starts sucking bruises, he can’t stop, not with the way Harry is quivering and moaning. It’s addictive, the feeling of knowing exactly what he’s doing to him, just how much it’s driving him crazy. Once he’s made his way down the right and up the left, there’s nowhere else for him to go but to lick up the base of Harry’s stiff cock, making him cry out.

A choked off moan greets him as he swallows Harry down, nosing at the pubic hair that Harry still keeps neatly trimmed before he sets a steady pace, bobbing his head up and down and swirling his tongue along Harry’s length as he goes. He tries not to lose himself completely, wanting to remember every moment. The salt of Harry’s skin against his lips. The stream of throaty moans above him. The weak thrusts of Harry’s hips. Despite his best efforts, every sensation starts to blur together; he feels almost lightheaded with the intensity of it. And not just the pleasure spiking in his veins, but the love thrumming in his heart for the boy he used to know and the man he does know now. Harry is everything he ever wanted, and this time he’s going to make sure he knows that without a shadow of a doubt.

“B-babe! Babe. I’m–” Harry gasps, his body stilling, drawn taut like a bow as he starts to come down Zayn’s throat. He tastes the same, slightly sweet (he must still eat a lot of fruit), and Zayn swallows before easing off him. He props himself up on elbow, watching Harry’s chest rise and fall as he pants, trying to catch his breath.

“Babe, can I come on you?” he asks, kissing the soft skin below Harry’s belly button, nuzzling his face for a moment as he waits for Harry to answer. “Please?”

When he looks up, he can tell that Harry knows he was teasing by adding the ‘please,’ imitating how impeccable Harry’s manners are, even in the bedroom. He feigns a pout for a moment, before nodding eagerly, carding his fingers through Zayn’s hair.

“Please.”

Zayn shifts to kneel between Harry’s legs, finally taking his neglected cock in hand. Even though he has the best sight he could imagine, Harry spread out below him like a feast, his eyes drift closed as he gives himself over to the sensations, stripping his cock as he takes himself to the brink faster than he expected. If he’s honest, he’s been ready for this moment ever since he first saw Harry in costume and he hurtles toward the peak, his hand flying over his cock until he spurts hot streaks of come all over Harry’s belly. 

He opens his eyes, a slow grin spreading on his lips as he watches Harry drag a finger over his stomach, lifting it to swirl his tongue around it, moaning as he tastes Zayn’s come. 

“You’re shameless,” he says as he leans down to hover over Harry’s body again. “I love it. I love you.”

Harry kisses him before falling back against his pillow. “I love you, too.”

Zayn caresses the flushed skin of Harry’s cheek, admiring him. Smudged eye makeup and all, he’s beautiful. The most beautiful person he’s ever seen. Could ever hope to see.

“Do you know how beautiful you are?” he asks, feeling like a character in one of the cheesy rom coms that Harry loves but not giving a fuck. “Because you are, you’re so beautiful.”

“And I’m yours,” Harry says, his voice tinged with something that sounds like hope.

“And you’re mine,” Zayn says, more forcefully than he intended to. “And I’m yours. Right?”

“Right.” Harry grins and Zayn can’t resist his bitten pink lips, kissing him over and over again. They stay like that for a while, Harry in Zayn’s arms, kissing softly as the quiet in the room envelopes them. It’s a cliché that it feels like they’re the only two people in the world, but what Zayn is realizing as he gets older is that most clichés are at least based in truth. 

“We’re kind of sticky,” Harry says eventually, looking down between them. “And gross.”

“Yeah,” Zayn agrees. “I know we should clean up, but I don’t want to move, you know?”

“Ah, but we don’t have to,” Harry says triumphantly. “I have baby wipes in my nightstand, top drawer. They come in handy.”

Zayn laughs as Harry waggles his eyebrows ridiculously, shuffling to the side of the bed and fumbling in the drawer until he finds the plastic box of wipes.

“Want me to clean you up, babe?”

“Yes, please,” Harry sing-songs, beaming. He throws his arms above his head, wiggling his lean body. Zayn smiles as he grabs a couple of wipes, leaning down to press kisses to the butterfly tattoo in the middle of his torso as he cleans up his tummy, making his squirm under the cool cloth. “Tickles.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Zayn says, smiling against his skin. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Zayn tosses the used wipes into the small garbage can by the side of the bed and sits against the headboard, wrapping his arms around Harry as he rests his head on Zayn’s chest. He looks around Harry’s bedroom, taking it on for the first time. It’s neat but cluttered, photos and mementos propped up on every available space. There’s a Keith Haring print in the corner that he’ll want to examine more closely later, but for now his attention is drawn to the guitar propped up against the wall below it.

Harry follows his eyes, before nuzzling his chest, confessing, “Niall’s been giving me lessons,” against his skin.

Zayn pets his curls. “I, um… I actually knew that,” he admits. “I was stopping by his classroom one day and you two were practicing.”

Harry groans, and Zayn knows he was right not to interrupt that day.

“I left as soon as I realized,” he assures him. “I couldn’t even tell what song you were playing. Sounded like The Eagles, but I listened to basically their whole discography and couldn’t figure out which song.”

“That’s probably because he’s been teaching me Fleetwood Mac songs,” Harry says, finally looking up at him with a smile. “Did you really listen to The Eagles?”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, “of course.”

“But you don’t even like classic rock.”

“Yeah, but I like you,” he replies, bending his head to kiss Harry’s nose. “You like it? The guitar?”

“I do,” Harry says, resting his head against Zayn’s chest again. “I’ve been messing around, trying to make some stuff from my journal into lyrics, but I’m not very good at it.”

“Doesn’t matter if you’re good at it, although I bet you’re better than you think. You like it?”

“Yeah, sometimes it’s easier, you know? To talk to the guitar. Easier than it is to talk to a person.”

“I think I know,” Zayn muses, hugging Harry closer to him and kissing the top of his head. “I kind of started journaling when I was up in Oakland. It’s not really… it’s not like a diary, it’s more like, um, poetry, I guess.”

“It’s like… it’s like we’ve both been practicing for something.”

Zayn’s heartbeat picks up as he realizes that Harry is right. “For this.”

“We’re gonna do better this time,” Harry says, his lovely deep voice fierce. Sure. “We are, I know it.”

“We are, babe,” Zayn says, rubbing his hand over Harry’s back. “I know it, too.”

*

“Harry. Harry! Hey, dumbass, your timer is going!”

Harry finally looks up when Gemma swats him with a dish towel, hurrying to check the pies in the oven. The crusts are a perfect golden brown, so he slips on his light pink oven mitts and carefully transfers both pies to the cooling rack. 

“Are you sure they’re done?” Gemma asks, looking skeptical. “The middle is kind of… wobbly.”

“Remind me,” Harry says, hanging the oven mitts back on the hook before tapping his chin with his finger. “What did I say when you got here?”

“That I could hang out in the kitchen as long as I didn’t question your methods,” Gemma recites, handing him a glass of wine. “Seriously, are they done?”

“Yes,” Harry says, rolling his eyes. He loves his sister, he really does, and he’s missed her like crazy since she moved. But as soon as she’s back home, it’s like she thinks it’s her job to annoy him in the kitchen. “The center will set as they cool, trust me.”

He doesn’t bother to hide the look he throws Zayn, who knows to stay out of his way while he’s baking. They’re cat-sitting for Mitch’s girlfriend Sarah over the long weekend, and Zayn is hanging out with Domino in the living room, pretending to watch football but just messing around on his phone until it’s time to leave for Harry’s parents’ house. Harry can’t complain about Gemma’s impertinence freely the way he normally would to Zayn, seeing as how she’s standing right there, but it’s nice having him here for the knowing eye contact. It’s like he’s Jim on  _ The Office _ and Zayn is the camera or something.

Satisfied, he turns back to the gingerbread cookies on the counter between the kitchen and the living room, picking up his icing bag to resume frosting. 

“Who eats gingerbread cookies on Thanksgiving?” Gemma asks, leaning against the counter and taking a long sip of wine. “It doesn’t matter if you used your cat shaped cookie cutter, you know gingerbread is for Christmas.”

“They’re for me,” Zayn calls from the couch. “He knows I don’t really like pumpkin pie.”

Harry blushes, feeling Gemma’s eyes on him as he concentrates on frosting a cookie.

“So it’s going well, then?” she asks softly, nudging Harry in the side and ruining his straight line of piping. “Come on, he’s not listening, you can tell me.”

Harry looks up to see his boyfriend taking a picture of Domino and then holding the phone out for Domino to see the photo on his screen. 

“Oh, god,” Gemma groans. “Nevermind, you two couldn’t be any more perfect for each other if you tried.”

And that’s the thing, isn’t it? They have been trying: to communicate, to make each other feel appreciated, to give space when it’s needed. But it’s coming more naturally than either of them expected; it doesn’t even feel like work. It just feels like… them. They fit together the way they were always meant to. 

“It is,” he says, turning back to Zayn’s cookies. “It is going really well.”   
  


**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! please share the [fic post](https://disgruntledkittenface.tumblr.com/post/645372223713083392/i-fell-in-im-falling-im-for-you-by/)


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